Page 6 - Excerpts from the diary

has gone quiet. It has flown away. Only the wind rustles the leaves of the trees, echoing the playful forest birds.

I am swollen all over from the bites of tiny midges and those disgusting, ugly, importunate mosquitoes that even crawl under my shirt just
to bite me.

11.07.1942
For six days we have been getting out of encirclement. There is neither strength nor patience left. We are walking, at least two hundred
kilometers. These few days seem to me like a month, a year, something unimaginable and difficult, like a dream. The ordeals are still not
over. Today, according to some, we will take up defensive positions, defend, cover the withdrawal and evacuation of units, property, and
troops.

I have many interesting things to tell, but I am very tired; I cannot.

19.07.1942
If I have the date right, today is July 19. I am now in the settlement that was thirteen kilometers away when I made yesterday’s entry on
the road.

We already spent last night here. We arrived late. The day was overcast, and we counted on going straight to sleep. Some public
establishments are still operating here, although the livestock, collective-farm and state-farm property, and the bank have been evacuated.
The pharmacy and the school-supplies shop are still open. The place is packed with soldiers. A regiment arrived before us and filled every
side street. There was no room for us in the center of the settlement, so we had to cross the little river again and go to the western
outskirts of the village, where we finally settled.

During the night it began to rain. In my sleep I felt the large, chilling drops falling thickly over everything. Instinctively I curled into a
ball, tucked the gas-mask bag beneath me and covered myself with my greatcoat, but of course it did not help. I was soaked through. The
only things that remained dry were the gas-mask bag containing my notebooks and the upper part of my pack with its side pockets, where
I keep notebooks, photographs, and documents. Those were the places I protected most carefully.

There is a continuous roar of aircraft in the sky. It is not clear what our people are waiting for. Another airborne landing perhaps, and
more trouble ahead? They want, apparently, to squeeze more essential produce out of this region. Honey was obtained from
apiaries—there is a great deal of honey here—and is now being exchanged for bread. Wheat was taken from barns in sacks and traded
with peasants for bread, flour, and so on. They want to stay here and collect more bread because, they say, once we are beyond the Don
there will be much less to barter.

The second lieutenant is an arrogant young fellow, cunning, not especially intelligent, but practical. He lives only for himself, as does
nearly everyone around me. He probably learned that in school. He is strongly influenced by the soldiers and is ready to follow almost
any advice rather than compel the more experienced, useful, and authoritative men to do something; instead he makes me and the less
experienced men do it. There are not many of those useful men—one or two at most.

They threw the mines out of the vehicle back when German submachine-gunners had landed ahead of us and, according to a junior
lieutenant who later joined us, defeated our 27th and 28th battalions. I did not know about it then. Had I known, I would not have allowed
them to do it.
The mortars were abandoned under the direction of the second lieutenant near here, about twenty kilometers away, in a settlement whose
name was something like Kukhtachevo or Vikhlyantsevo. When I reminded the lieutenant of Stalin’s order requiring the strictest
preservation of military equipment under all circumstances, he replied: “You do not understand the situation, Comrade Gelfand. You do
not know what position we are in now,” and ordered me to bring a shovel so the weapon could be buried. I asked him to save at least one
company mortar—it weighs only ten kilograms. “Then carry it on your shoulders,” the lieutenant answered. Obviously I could not carry
it while we were in territory threatened by enemy airborne troops.

Now I am grazing horses. Damn them—they wander far away and I constantly have to interrupt my writing and drive them back. I am
sick of it already. I will drive them into the garden where we are staying.

20.07.1942
Belensky farmstead. That is the name of this settlement. Today is already our second day here. Troops keep coming and coming:
individuals, small groups, and large units. Everyone looks worn out and exhausted. Many have changed into civilian clothes, most have
abandoned their weapons, and some commanders have torn off their insignia. What shame! What an unexpected and bitter contradiction
of the newspaper reports. It grieves me as a soldier, a commander, a Komsomol member, a patriot of my country. My heart contracts with
shame and helplessness at being unable to stop this disgraceful flight. Every day I become more firmly convinced that we are strong and
that in the end we will certainly win; but with bitterness I must admit to myself that we are disorganized, that we lack proper discipline,
and that because of this the war is dragging on and we are suffering temporary defeats.

The senior command fled in cars, abandoning masses of Red Army soldiers, although the front is still far from here. Things have reached
the point where German aircraft dare to fly over the ground as if they were at home, not even letting us raise our heads freely along the
whole route of retreat.

All crossings and bridges are destroyed. Abandoned property and livestock lie smashed and ruined along the road. Looting flourishes
everywhere; cowardice reigns. The military oath and Stalin’s order are trampled at every step.